'Til Death Do Us Part (EP. 3)

So she did. It was probably the hardest thing she'd ever done, but for the next 15 minutes, she pictured each crisp intake of air floating up to her brain to grab her wayward thoughts and banishing them from her mind, where they dangled helplessly in the air in front of her.

Inhale... Your husband is lying dead in the bathtub.

Exhale... It's all your fault.

Inhale... You don't deserve these breaths.

Exhale... You're a monster.

Three sharp raps banged through the empty house like gunshots, ricocheting off of the walls and scattering her thoughts.

She knew who it was, but her stomach flipped at the thought of what they were here to do.

Open the door! Her mind hissed. They're here to fix your mess so your life isn't over just because "his" is.

It was surreal, but as Casey stood, she felt as if she were watching her body from afar. It wasn't her pale, thin limbs that stumbled toward the door and twisted the impractical knobs that her husband had insisted upon. She didn't remember yanking open the thick wooden door and ushering a hulking grizzly bear of a man inside either. But her body snapped back to attention when the Dwayne Johnson-Yogi hybrid began to open the door to the bathroom.

"Wait!" she shouted and then cringed. Her voice sounded a mix between a bark and a high-pitched cough.

Mountain man slowly turned back toward her and Casey's voice caught in her throat. His mahogany hair twisted and spiraled in wild patterns all over his head and a few rebellious pieces even dangled into his eyes. The piercing amber orbs were trained on her expectantly, one eyebrow raised.

"I... Look, I know what you're going to find in there and I know how it looks but you have to believe me, I had no choice. You have no idea how bad it was- I, he- he was awful." Her painful stammers fizzled out into a whisper and Casey sank to the floor, allowing herself her first tears since the deafening roar of the gun hours earlier.

Gabe stiffened, he had seen his share of tears from women and men alike who were now so sorry about what they had done now that the consequences of their actions were staring them in the face and they carried a new self-inflicted label. Murderer.

"Look, Barbie, I'm just here to do a job," he ground out, his teeth clenching beneath the scruff that covered most of his face. "I don't care what Beverly Hills sob story you concocted so you could off your old man without guilt." His voice was hard and incompassionate.

Shocked by his rudeness, the laugh that tore from her throat was bitter as she scrubbed her blue eyes with the heel of her hand. "Wrinkles, Casey, wrinkles." her mother's voice tutted in her head.

"My old man," she spat, "Was an abusive, condescending, man-whoring piece of garbage. I'm not happy I killed him, but I am happy he's dead." That last bit shocked her. Was she really?

Hairy hulk turned and advanced on her, clenching his black-gloved fists. Heat prickled up his neck and was coming dangerously close to exploding out of the top of his head. "Don't act like killing him was your only option. There's the police, abuse hotlines, or even hell, I don't know, leaving." He chuckled dryly, looking around their immaculately furnished home. "But I guess when the money is good, you find every reason to stay."

Who the hell did he think he was? He knew nothing about her or her life and yet he judged her choices. That was rich considering he was here to help her fix them.

"I have the hospital records to show that those options didn't work. And let's stop acting like this is about me. Your demons are clenching your heart a little too deep for this to be about a man you've never met. So go to therapy, but don't take your repressed feelings out on me."

That was more information than he deserved, but for some odd reason, she cared about whether or not he thought she was a good person or not.

Gabe rolled his eyes and cursed himself under his breath. This is why you don't speak to clients. Just make it go away so little Miss Malibu doesn't see the inside of a six-by-eight.